Fragrance of the Gayageum

Fragrance of the Gayageum
Yong Wan Choi 07.01.08

A hollow paulownia with twelve strings pulled taut along its body
rests its head on the knee of a rainbow-sleeved jeogori and skirt
and lying aslant on the stage of Carnegie Hall
slyly ignores the many faces waiting for its sound

Its trembling is the bared hue of an old homeland left far behind
following the light that pierces the darkness overhead
a mysterious harmony climbs the strings in reverse

Strings sway airily, stockinged feet dance lightly, lightly
tune upon tune from across the sea burrows into hearts behind closed collars
the emptied wooden mortar, grandmother's rice-cake pounding,
grandfather's long pipe tapping on the stone brazier, stoke glowing flames

In a strange land ten thousand li away, a cold tide rolls in day after day
stilled breath, veins come alive, and melodies spring out
in the forsaken back yard, water rises in the wild rose's stems

Over Manhattan's sleeping night sky, the trailing sound of a falling comet
the jeogori ribbon softly loosens, the heart within leaps as on a seesaw
the night rolls about, embracing the staggering soul of home